


Finding Khadgar (and Falling in Love On The Way)

by sakamoon (Sakamoon)



Category: Warcraft (2016), Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Khadgar reads books in strange places, M/M, can be taken romantically or platonically, early morning bonding, over drinks and books
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7398613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakamoon/pseuds/sakamoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Khadgar was invited to stay in the castle, Lothar expected him to spend all of his time reading in their library. It turned out this was fundamentally untrue, for while the boy almost always had a book on hand, he preferred reading it in the wine cellar,<br/>or the aviary<br/>or up in the Great Oak outside<br/>and how did the boy even manage to find that space in between the walls in the servants' quarters?<br/>and why did everyone expect Lothar to try and keep tabs on him?</p><p>A series of one shots centered an exasperated soldier and his surprisingly hard-to-find mage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wine Cellar (or the One Time Lothar Found Him Accidentally)

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom is awesome, and liontrust has stolen my heart. I haven't seen a whole ton of simple day-to-day fluff fics yet though, so I figured I could add a couple of my own. I'm kind of rusty, I haven't written anything for a while so, ya know, let me know if it's okay.

It was late—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say it was early, the sky lightening to blue in the predawn sky. The streets of Stormwind peaceful as the light slowly crept in. The most steadfast of workers were just rolling out of bed, adding a smaller peace with their contented morning chores and rituals. 

Yet while the city was only just waking up, one man found himself unable to fall asleep. Anduin Lothar sat slumped outside his favorite bar, an empty mug of mead held loosely in one hand as he watched the city around him slowly come to life. His eyes were bleary and gritty, and he could feel bags forming them. The bartender had cut him off a few hours ago, and while Lothar could feel the whirlwind blur of alcohol in his system slowly draining into a nasty hangover, he couldn’t seem to convince himself to sleep it off.

No, not when every time he closed eyes, he could see Callan, Medivh, or Llane staring back at him, accusing him, asking why, why, why. He couldn’t bring himself to sleep when ghosts were all around him, their deaths too recent, the pain still fresh.

The door next to him chimed as the bartender stepped out, pausing when he noticed his most regular customer slumped outside. With pursed lips and squinted eyes, the bartender was obviously deciding whether or not assistance would be appreciated or even accepted. As it turned out, it wasn’t. A few moments of this scrutiny had Lothar scrambling up and waving the other man away. The palace was not far, and while Lothar’s head was starting to hurt more and more, the world was spinning back into focus, so he managed his way back without any major accidents.

While the main palace gates were open to him, Lothar didn’t use them. Too many times he’d been intercepted there with news of some far off raid, or a request from the Queen Regent, and while he would normally be happy to assist his sister, he couldn’t risk it now. His eyes were more red than white, and a faint ringing had settled in his ears. Any help asked of him now would be met with little more than a blank stare.

So, instead he took an old servant’s entry that led him into the massive kitchens. Already, they were abuzz with energy as cooks, maids, and squires rushed around to prepare for the day. Without his armor, Lothar found it easy enough to pass through the crowd unrecognized and soon enough he stepped out of the noise into the nearly empty hallway. Here he relaxed, from here he could reach his rooms with almost no trouble. It was only up one stairway and two doors down.

Lothar slowed to a stop almost without realizing it. What would he do in his rooms at any rate? Lay in bed for a couple hours? Hope no one summons him. Pray for a battle. If he was just going to mope about anyway, he’d might as well do it without the splitting headache settling behind his eyes. Decision made, Lothar turned down an adjacent hallway and made his way to the wine cellar.

The cellar was kept cool, and the chilled air felt good on his face. There were lanterns by the entryway, but the cellar was designed partially above ground to let in light through several small windows placed near the roof. By this point, the dawn was well broken, and a soft light illuminated the rows of wine just enough for Lothar’s sensitive eyes. He made his way through the shelves, seeking out his favorite vintage when something caught his eye.

A back corner of the room was brighter than the small amount of sun could account for. The color was all all wrong too, a bright, almost-white blue that shifted and reflected off nearby bottles in a water-like effect. Cursing under his breath, Lothar suddenly wished he hadn’t left all his weaponry in his room. Grabbing a random bottle from a nearby shelf, he crouched down, ignoring the throbbing pain in his temple at the quick movement.

Lothar crept as silently as possible toward the source of the light, forming a million half-made plans as to how to defeat the enemy, but when he saw the source, they all flew out the window. 

Standing out of his crouch, Lothar exclaimed, “Bookworm?”

The mage flinched and looked up from the book on his lap toward the soldier, “Lothar? What are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same,” Lothar said, but it was rather obvious. The mage sat cross-legged on the ground, an open book on his lap and three more closed ones next to him. The light source was a mage light just above him, used obviously as a reading light.

“I was just reading,” Khadgar waved articulately at his books.

“You know they have libraries for that right?” Lothar said, giving up the ghost as sitting clumsily next to the boy.

“Yeah, but,” The boy wrinkled his nose, “You’re drunk,”

“Not half so much as I’d like to be,” Khadgar gave him a skeptical look before pointedly glancing at the empty mug in one hand and the wine bottle in the other. He raised the bottle, “Still unopened, and you’re no better, coming to the wine cellar first thing in the morning,”

The mage opened his mouth but paused before continuing, “Morning?” He squinted and looked at the nearest window, “Huh, so it is,” He dispelled his light, making Lothar blink as he readjusted to the dim light of the room.

“You’ve been here all night,” It was as much a statement as a question, and Lothar didn’t wait for a response before continuing, “what’s got you so enthralled? If you’ve found the cure for the common hangover, all of Azeroth will thank you for it.”

“Ah, no. This, this isn’t anything important. It’s just…just a story. A faetale,” Khadgar seemed almost embarrassed, as if luxury reading were a crime when he obviously needed to be learning all the secrets of the world to properly serve it as its new Guardian Initiate.

Well that just wouldn’t do. Lothar looked around for some way to cheer the mage up before noticing the wine in his hand had been previously opened after all, the cork jutting out from the bottle. Thanking his lucky stars, Anduin pulled the cork out with his teeth, and poured a sizable portion into the mug in his other hand before handing it to the nonplussed mage, “Here, drink this, and read to me bookworm. Entertain me!”

Khadgar looked as if he were about to complain, but paused to inspect Lothar’s eyes, and perhaps he saw something there. A shadow behind the soldier’s smile, a nightmare behind the dream. Instead, the mage took the glass out of his hand, drinking down a large gulp before picking up his book.

Shocked, Lothar spent a moment staring Khadgar while the mage started reading his story out loud. At first the boy stuttered and repeated phrases, unsure, but he quickly found his rhythm and his voice picked up a soothing resonance as he told the adventures of the hero of his book. Eventually, Lothar closed his eyes and rested his head on the shelf behind him, lulled by the mage’s voice, charismatic and powerful, capable of tearing enemies to shreds, and yet so gentle and trusting. It was a paradox if Lothar ever heard one. It suited Khadgar. 

This war cost him everything. His son. his King. His hope for peace.

And yet.

And yet, he would have never met Khadgar, if not for the Fel, and while that did not negate any of his losses, it gave Lothar something else to focus on. Something to pull him away from the burning accusation tucked beneath his eyelids, and before he knew it, Lothar was dozing off, his mind finally allowing itself some rest from the agonies of reality.

The last thing Lothar registered before collapsing into slumber was silence and Khadgar’s head resting on his shoulder as the boy fell into his own rest. together they added their own peace to the city that was wakening around them.


	2. Khadgar's Room (or That One Time With The Pig)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mage, why is it every time I find you, you are caught up in something ridiculous?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically, this is set before chapter one. Only, a few weeks after the movie ends. 
> 
> This chapter is interesting in terms of this series as it's not so much "finding Khadgar" as "finding Khadgar doing something weird" and it also is going to preclude a couple of later chapters.

Lothar wouldn’t say he was concerned. 

That was to say, generally speaking, Lothar would say he didn’t get concerned. He was watchful, yes, and very careful. He cared about those he was responsible for, and he was realistic about the dangers of the world. He was responsible, yes, but concern was a waste of energy. It was fretting and worrying and wondering the if and buts of any scenario. Ultimately, it was useless. So when a soldier got injured in battle, he didn’t fret about future complications in their health, choosing instead to think about proper medical procedures instead. When the new recruits turned out too young, inexperienced, and naive, he didn’t worry about their future, choosing instead to think about which training style they would handle best.

And when a certain young future-Guardian-in-Training suddenly locked himself in his room for days, Lothar certainly didn’t wonder what he was doing, or whether he was eating, or if he was even still alive…

Dammit, okay maybe he was a little concerned.

“You could knock on his door you know,” His sister said out of the blue.

“What?” Lothar asked, as he turned his attention fully on Taria. They had been aimlessly strolling through the palace halls, walking off their dinner and enjoying each other’s company. Their family was so small now, they had to enjoy what moments they could.

“Khadgar,” She said, “No one would blame you for checking up on him,” Lothar didn’t like the cheeky grin on her face and was about to say as such when her smile dropped to something much more serious, “He’s been there for over a fortnight now,”

“I know,” He said, more a growl than actual words, “But if he wants to be by himself, I’m not going to be the one who interrupts him,”

“Lothar,” She sighed, shoulders slumping, “What if he doesn’t want to be alone? What if he just doesn’t know how to be with others?”

Lothar raised an eyebrow at his sister, “Was I supposed to understand that, or are you quoting the royal history books again?”

She rolled her eyes, “Think about it Lothar. He was raised by the _Kirin Tor_ , and has been traveling since he left them. Now suddenly he is living here, in the royal palace, training to become the Guardian and trying to cope with everyone’s expectations. It must be hard, that change.”

It was an interesting thought, and one that hadn’t occurred to him. Lothar had more than his fair share of troubles and difficulties in his life, but uncertainty about his life’s path was never one of them. He was a soldier, born into a family of soldiers. He grew up in Stormwind, and it would forever be his home. He would spend his life fighting and when he died, it would be in battle, bloody and painful. This was a harsh reality, but a true one and he’d come to grips with it years ago. In comparison, the mage seemed to have a—well not an easy life—but perhaps a softer one. Yet now, as Taria’s words overlapped Lothar’s imagination of Khadgar’s life, it did indeed seem…lonely. An image of Medivh flashed through his head, and Lothar shook it away. The new Guardian-To-Be was not Medivh: he would not give in to the Fel, to Loneliness. Lothar wouldn’t let him.

Taria was looking at him expectantly.

He thew his hands in the air, “Yes, fine, I will go check on the boy and make sure he hasn’t accidentally blown himself up,”

She clapped her hands together cheerfully, “Excellent. I knew I could count on you. Please let me now how he is doing after you are done,”

With that, she walked away toward her chambers. Lothar scratched his head, watching her go. A thought occurred to him.

“Wait, you want me to go now?” She half turned and raised a single, trim eyebrow. Lothar nodded in acquiescence. 

* * *

“What in the world?”

Lothar stared and wondered what his life had come to. Over three decades of life, two decades of military service, and one inter-dimensional war and he still wasn’t quite sure he’d seen something as strange as this. 

“Ah, good. You’re here. Okay, could you bring me that knife. Yeah, that one right over there, right to your left, there. Do you see it? Lothar? Hello, are you okay?”

“Am I…?” Lothar shook his head, “Mage, why is it every time I find you, you are caught up in something ridiculous?”

And indeed Khadgar did seem to be in peculiar fix, caught up-side-down in a complex web of gossamer thin strings. They were countless, spanning the width of the room like the world’s most overdone three dimensional dreamcatcher. Little knick knacks were spread throughout the tangle, an open tome lay facedown a few inches form Khadgar’s head. An unlit candle balanced precariously on a single string. A pig squealed in panic from the bottom of the weave, just in front of Lothar, twisting itself into a tighter knot as it thrashed.

“This is—this is not ridiculous,” The mage shot back, huffing when a new string tangle around his arm as he tried to gesticulate his point, “I assure you there is very reasonable explanation for all this—if you would just grab that knife, and maybe cut that string right by the door,”

Lothar crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, “I think I want to hear this ‘very reasonable explanation’ of yours first,”

Khadgar’s explanation consisted of a low groan and a wince as one of the strings tangled in his hair.

Lothar nodded sagely, “Of course, it all makes sense now. You have enlightened me, oh mage, unto the mysteries of this world,”

“The knife, Lothar, just, please,” Khadgar was starting to sound a little desperate, and while the red tinge in his cheeks had ben entertaining, the purple hue the rest of his face was obtaining was a little alarming. Lothar decided perhaps a little chivalry would be appropriate, picked up the knife and went to cut the string nearest the door, “No! Not that one!” Khadgar yelled, alarm saturating his tone.

Lothar flinched back, turned around, pointed at the string, and then pointed at Khadgar eloquently.

“I said the string near the door, not the one nearest. Please cut that one,” Here Khadgar definitely pointed at a string, and Lothar was very sure he was trying to point at a very specific string, but where there were so many attached to the walls, and with Khadgar being tied up as he was, Lothar legitimately had no idea which one the mage was pointing at. With scrunched eyebrows, he picked a nearby string at random and plucked it, “No, no not that one either. This one. This one!”

Lothar through his hands up in the air, “What do you mean ‘this one?’ Is it this one?” He plucked a sting, “Or this one?” tapped another, “Or that one or that one or this one?” You’re not giving me much to work with here,”

Even up-side-down, Khadgar managed a skeptical look that made Lothar feel stupid, “It’s the string, the red string. _The only red string_ ,”

Lothar looked around the room, then at Khadgar, then back at the room before giving up and saying, “There is no red string. They’re all white, like spiderwebs,”

“What do you mean there’s no red one, I specifically made sure to make that one—oh. Oh, nevermind. You don’t have magesight. Of course not. Nevermind, just go ahead and cut that first string then. I suppose it will have to do,”

Lothar stared at Khadgar then turned to the pig for answers to mystery that was the mage’s mind. The pig offered no answers.

“Very well then, your will be done, Your Majesty,” Lothar turned with a flourish and grabbed hold of the string he intended to cut, looking toward Khadgar for confirmation. At the mage’s encouraging nod, he quickly ran the blade through the strand. Instead of slicing, like he expected, it dissolved into light, once the light touched another string, that one began to dissolve, followed by another, and another until the room was filled with tiny lines of light slowly floating up and up.

Lothar was entranced by the sight until he heard a loud thump and a small moan. Startled, he ran to the mage, but Khadgar was already pushing himself back up, rubbing the top of his head. Feeling the slightest bit guilty (mostly because he expected something like that to happen and let it happen anyway), he offered the mage a hand, which Khadgar readily accepted.

“Is everything fine?” Lothar asked. Khadgar nodded slowly, yet his expression said otherwise, lips turned down in an obvious pout, “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“What? No, no,” Khadgar wave a hand dismissively, “It’s not that I’m hurt. Just…,” He let out a tortured sigh, “So much effort lost in one moment. I was almost done too,”

“That’s a shame,” Lothar said unapologetic, “speaking of, mind explaining what you were doing, mage?”

“Forget it. Now that the strings are gone, there’s no way you could grasp the concept,”

“Yes, thank you for that bit of encouragement,”

“I am serious. The matter is complex and arcane, and—”

“And involves tying up pigs?”

“That’s not a pig,”

Lothar was suddenly much more worried about the hit Khadgar’s head had taken, “Not…a pig?”

“Well I mean, he’s a pig now, but only for a bit. When he came in, I couldn’t risk him trying to cut through the map.” That web was supposed to be some kind of map? “and so I did the first spell I could think of, but I guess I slipped and then I got caught up and—“ Khadgar’s speech was interrupted by a large yawn, “—and I guess I have to start over now,”

While Lothar processed the fact that Khadgar had apparently transformed another one of his soldiers into an animal, Khadgar, with the single-minded focus Lothar was beginning to associate with the mage, formed an arcane string in his hand and attached it to a wall near the door, walking backwards as he formed and drew it toward the other wall. Halfway across the room, he yawned again and stumbled over the pig, breaking his concentration and dissolving the string.

The swine’s shrill scream managed to overpower most of Khadgar’s muttered curses, but what Lothar did hear made him raise an eyebrow in surprise and a little bit of pride. Again the mage tried to create another string, but Lothar wasn’t having it. Now that Khadgar wasn’t up-side-down and turning interesting colors from the blood rushing to his head, it was obvious how dark the circles under his eyes were. Lothar didn’t want to think about how long the boy might have been hanging there if he hadn’t come to check in. He didn’t want to think how long he’d been stuck, alone but for a pig, anyway.

“Oh no, you’re coming with me,” He said and grabbed Khadgar’s high collar, all but dragging him out of the room. The boy muttered protests, but they were broken by yawns that were becoming more and more frequent.

“When was the last time you slept, boy?” he asked, that damnable concern thickening his words. Unbidden a thought of Callan brushed his mind. When he was just a child, Callan would also push himself past his limits, training and traversing in an attempt to please his father. Back then, Lothar, still angry and hurt by his wife’s death, had callously brushed him off. He should have paid more attention. He have acknowledged Callan, should have been a better father, should have been better—

“—Lothar? Lothar! Where are we going? My rooms are back—“

Lothar snapped himself out of his musings with a shake of his head, turning his attention to the mage. He had let go of Khadgar a while ago, and now the mage was simply following him out of some form of half-asleep instinct, “I know where your rooms are. We’re going to mine,”

“…Why?”

“Because the Guard needs to know where to find me, and I need to make sure you’re not going to kill yourself stumbling around like a drunk man,”

“I’m fine,” Khadgar said petulantly, and Lothar was reminded of a tired child pouting at bedtime.

“Need I remind you that you fell over a pig just a couple minutes ago? Here we are,” Lothar unlocked his door and cheerily walked into the room.

“No, you don’t,” Khadgar replied, even as his half closed eyes honed in on Lothar’s bed and he collapsed onto it without hesitation. The mage mumbled something that was probably a clever retort, but he was asleep before Lothar could ask him to clarify. The mage had stumbled onto the bed at an angle, and his robes twisted in ways that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. Weirdly, instead of a pillow, Khadgar was using a thick book. Not weird in that he was using a tome as a pillow, as Khadgar often did so, but weird in that Lothar didn’t keep any books in his room and he was sure Khadgar didn’t have one when they were walking toward his rooms. Lothar placed his fists on his hips and let out a long-suffering sigh.

A few minutes later, Lothar looked at his work proudly. Khadgar was laying much more naturally on the bed now; his cloak and outer layers were removed and folded neatly on a nearby table, and actual feather-down pillow under his head. The boy had a small smile on his face.

“You’re impossible,” He said to no one in particular, since his only audience was clearly not listening, “How did you ever survive by yourself?” And then, only because Khadgar _was_ soundly sleeping, he allowed himself to run a hand through the mage’s hair, “Someone’s going to have to keep an eye on you,”

If his sister’s earlier request indicated anything, that ‘someone’ would probably be him.

To himself, he admitted that he looked forward to it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't played WoW since I was just a wee little thing, and I certainly don't know any of the lore, really. So I'm taking some creative liberties with the magic Khadgar can use to suit my needs.
> 
> Feel free to tell me if you see anything wonky. Thank you for reading.


End file.
